


the love that came without warning

by siriuslydraco



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-01-21 13:22:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12458670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siriuslydraco/pseuds/siriuslydraco
Summary: "there is a charm about the forbidden that makes it unspeakably desirable"- Mark Twain





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I am obsessed with The Borgias and Cesare and Lucrezia's relationship, it's just so good! I was dying to write a Jonsa story based on this so here you go and enjoy!

She's not the same as she once was. Not porcelain and pretty like a fine china doll, nor is she unblemished and pale, with blushing cheeks the colour of summer roses. She sits under the pavilion alongside her darker sister, looking like a vague reflection of what she once was. Sansa Stark, daughter of the Pope, is still undeniably beautiful with eyes the colour of a storm and hair like the burning fires that glow outside the Vatican. But underneath the crimson silk dress are blotches of green and purple, and along the creamy expanse of skin on her back lies pink and white scars.

Jon watches his sister now, with eyes as black as coal, heavy and full of the sin he commits each time he gazes too longingly at her. But they often gaze upon one another, and have looked at each too long to be anything like brother and sister. Half brother, he corrects himself, he's all too reminded of that each time he walks the streets of Rome. His Cardinal's collar pulls tight as he swallows and he yanks it from his sweating skin with trembling fingers. He so strongly wished to have control of the Papal armies once Eddard Stark had been named Pope but that responsibility had been bestowed on Robb. Pope Eddard's legitimate first born son.

The red of his Cardinal robes match greatly with the crimson of Sansa's dress, and in one sinful thought he imagines them pooled together on his chamber floor.

"Did you hear me brother?" he hears the voice, so rough yet gentle and a voice that brings him the height of joy. Arya's large Stark eyes weigh down on his from where she sits high on an ornate deck chair. Jon is splayed underneath the ivory canopy, the trimmed grass scratching him even over his robes. He wriggles uncomfortably, the gilded and jewelled crucifix around his neck digging into his chest. He has stared too long at his beautiful yet detached red haired sister that he has abandoned the gentlemanly courtesy of listening to the Lady Arya.

"I beg your forgiveness, dear sister. I was miles away" Jon tells her much to the obvious displeasure of his younger sister. She shifts in her chair, the sea blue fabric of her gown making ruffling noises as she does. Jon knows his sister would rather wear leather doublets, trousers and a sword belt if she was allowed, but Roman customs would upturn their nose at such a thing. Much like they did at a Stark Pope.

"You should sit out of the sun, brother. It makes your head soft" she giggles, her eyes throwing aside to Sansa, but she does not smile in return. She does not smile much these days, not since she rode back to Rome on a beaten down horse, with a body full of bruises and a spirit so broken not even Jon could fix it. He had thought that their father and the college of Cardinals granting her an annulment from her marriage to the Bolton heir would have made her jovial. But he can see whatever had transpired in the marriage bed had made her heart heavy.

"I was speaking of the masquerade ball our Holy Father has decided to host here in the city" Arya tells him with an excitement not akin to her normal personality. Her clapping hands and wide smile is a façade he knows, one to coerce their sister into attending this travesty of a gathering. Perhaps dancing and wine might make the Lady Sansa smile again "you are attending are you not, dear brother?"

"I should think so, little one" he beams up at her, not missing how the crystal blue eyes of his other sister skims along his face. He tries hard not to look at her most times, but one so beautiful demands to be gazed upon. Jon allows himself the weakness then, and meets his eyes with her own. They are red rimmed and raw, but the sun is reflected in them and her coal black lashes cast shadows on her cheeks. She had come back three weeks ago, but he wonders if she is no longer whole.

"I am thinking of going as Artemis. I think that would be most fitting for me brother, don't you think?" Arya asks him with an upturned lip. Jon can't help but smile back- of course the façade of that particular goddess would fit the wild Stark daughter to the ground. The goddess of wild animals is the very epitome of his sister.

"Very fitting indeed" he smirks at her and is glad to see the faintest of smiles from Sansa. It is this sarcasm and banter that he knows she has missed, and she herself would have provided some witty remark had this been a year ago. But all she does now is sit there in fine silks with her hands folded on her lap, with the shadow of past smiles playing on her pink lips. There's a flurry of blue skirts as Arya launches herself from her chair, a bright and genuine beam across her face.

"Robb!" she cries, and Jon watches as the figure of the oldest Stark strolls through the garden towards them. His auburn hair and Tully eyes shine brightly in the sun, but not as bright as the sword that dangles from his hip. The red Cardinals collar strains tighter around Jon's neck; an invisible hand choking him. Robb had control of the papal armies and had been for the past three weeks, attending meetings with the Vatican's allies, while Jon was forced to remain among a college of venomous holy men. He looks away from Robb and his younger sister as they embrace and lets his eyes rest on Sansa.

Her crystalline eyes- like the stained glass fragments from the windows of St Peter's Basilica- are looking at his already, and his heart thumps in his chest. So tender and soft she looks whenever his dark eyes meet hers, and Jon finds he can almost forget all the pain that hides behind them. Sansa smiles softly and before he knows it he is up from the ground and sitting himself beside her; his fingers nimbly fidgeting with the gold crucifix that rests around this neck. She looks away then, to someplace far away, past their chattering siblings by the fountain and past the Papal guards that stand in front of the high gate, and to the blue horizon. She does not move or speak for a moment, but Jon is content to watch this woman- his sister.

"Are you truly attending this ball?" for a moment he does not believe she has actually spoken at all, but she once again lets those blue depths rest on him; the shadow of them following his hands that rests on the bunched up mess of his red robes. He straightens them absently, trying to look anywhere but the sister he desires in a way a brother should not.

"If our Holy Father has said we should, then we should. Besides, Rome has looked dismal without you, my love" he lets the endearment roll off his tongue as easily as always, but it bristles Sansa in a way it hadn't before. Jon has called her this since they've been children, but this time it makes something painful arise in her chest. Perhaps it is the fact she will never be _his_ love. Not truly. "I feel if you attend this masquerade ball then this city will look magnificent once again"

"You always had an unsuspecting talent for flattery, dear brother" Sansa tells him, the haunting echo of a smile playing on her lips. He lets himself chuckle, the weight and discomfort of the Cardinals robes a little less at the sight of her ghostly beauty.

"Unsuspecting?" he teases her, leaning forward and letting his black eyes trace along the edges of her pink lips. For a moment Jon feels that they are back to being the old Jon and Sansa- a duo on the edge of something other than familial; two people who understand each other more than anyone else. But the comfort of the past enveloping him is gone in a second when a shadow looms over them under the pavilion.

"Brother" he hears, the voice rough and as warming as the red head who sits beside him.

"Brother" Jon repeats, Stark eyes lifting to meet Tully blue. Robb is every inch his mother, as is Sansa, with blue crystalline eyes and auburn hair that burns furiously under the Roman sun. He now stands before them, in the cloak and tunic of the Papal army, a glinting sword by his hip. Jon swallows tightly as he does each time he looks at Robb. Since they were children they were groomed for very different roles. As was Bran and Rickon; but the clear distinguish of legitimacy was always clear when it came to Robb. Jon was Pope Eddard's bastard- the red robes and crucifix of a Cardinal was bestowed on him rather than a sword.

"Dear sister, you look as lovely as the last time I saw you" Robb tells Sansa, taking her hand in his rough war battered one and kissing it. It is a lie, Jon knows, since Sansa was the rose of Rome the last time Robb saw her. Now she is pale and tired, with lips dry and cracked and eyes rimmed with unrest. Jon does not miss how Robb's eyes flicker to Sansa's porcelain skin that now resembles a doll full of cracks and marks. She was once so precious, now she has been mistreated by a man who never deserved her.

Robb takes her hand tighter in his and swallows thickly, a tremble of anger rolling over his body.

"I am so happy you have returned to us, Sansa. Truly we missed you"

"I missed you too, brother" she whispers softly, copying Robbs upturned lips. Her words, more than her smile, are sincere.

"Jon, I have just spoken with Father. He wishes to see you in his rooms" there is a look in Robb's blue eyes that unsettles him then, and he can not help but flicker his gaze to his sister that rests elegantly yet weary in her chair "shall we take a turn around the gardens with Arya? We have a lot to talk about"

Jon can tell that Sansa does not wish to move from the comforting shadow of the pavilion canopy, but she lets Robb take both her hands and haul her from where she sits- crimson skirts rustling like the leaves in autumn. Underneath the rays of sunlight she looks like a flame among the roses as she strolls alongside her siblings, and Jon watches her for a moment before he arises to meet the Holy Father.

* * *

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> marriage for Sansa is proposed, and Jon is not happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoy everyone! much love to the jonsa fandom 
> 
> also a few terms if anyone is confused;
> 
> papacy: the office of pope; a succession or line of popes; the term of a pope's reign  
> papal: of or relating to the pope or the papacy  
> cardinal: a high official of the Roman Catholic Church who ranks next below the pope and is appointed by him to assist him as a member of the college of cardinals

He finds his father underneath the stained glass window of his Vatican study; stained scrolls and aged maps scattered across the wooden table. His head is bent low, and those broad shoulders of his are scrunched in a way that Jon can tell is constructed by tension; much of which his father has these days. The red ruby of his papal ring shines brighter than the roman sun outside, and Jon glares at it as it rests on his fathers finger. The title of the Papacy has brought much turmoil to their family, and the red of the pope's ring and that of Jon's cardinal robes is the same colour of the blood that has been spilled because of it.

"Father, you wanted to see me?" Jon addresses as he stands before his father. Pope Eddard however does not look up, only merely grunts lowly leaving Jon wondering if he is displeased at his presence or the borders of the map he stares at.

"Father?" Jon tries again, clearing his throat loudly beforehand "my brother said you wished to speak to me"

"Yes yes come in" Eddard waves hurriedly, even though Jon is already in the room. The Cardinal sighs as he takes a step forward; the sound of his heavy footfalls and the rustle of the ridiculous cardinal robes finally making the Pope's eyes meet Jon's. They are Stark grey, just like his, and even now they hold a command for respect.

"What is this about, Father?" Jon asks him while eyeing the maps of Italy his father has laid in front of him. They are now so old and worn, for so many Pope's and papal officials have handled them for centuries. But Jon guesses not one of them had stared and studied these maps as often and as long as Pope Eddard Stark does. He is greatly obsessed with alliances and restoring the honour to the Vatican that it has all but consumed him since he took up office. But some of his alliances had not tempered so greatly.

Jon finds his fists clench by his sides when he thinks of his father's last attempt at making an ally to Rome. The Boltons had not made great comrades in the end. The Pope had handed over Rome's rose and had seen it returned; wilted and broken.

On the table there are markers atop the maps; a lions head or the coiling form of a viper. They are markers that represent the houses of Italy, the houses Pope Eddard has often stayed awake at night thinking of. His papacy will be strong, he has promised, one not built on glory but on honour. A promise Jon knows is a weak one.

Rome does not care much for honour these days. It cares for power and money, and above all the seedy corruption of war. This is why it had not cared much for Eddard or his children; they were too honourable. Jon can still not understand why deception and illusion play such a prominent part in the Holy Roman Church, and why benefactors such as the Lannisters can be bowed to. Surely God wanted more for his legacy? Surely this routine of murder and seduction and indecency that is displayed within Rome should be shunned? But the powerful remain on top while families like the Starks are beaten at every corner.

Sansa being the more recent one to be cast aside in scandal.

"I need to know what to do with Naples" Eddard grumbles gruffly, his eyes almost translucent with tiredness as he looks at his son. There is an undeniable bolt of grief each time he gazes at his raven haired son; one of mourning almost and Jon can never understand it. It is there in them now as he stares at him beneath the stained glass depiction of the apostles. There seems to be a grief hidden in their eyes too, so Jon looks away.

"Naples, father? What about Naples?" Jon asks him confusedly. He had thought the drama of the Naples alliance had been smoothed out, and Cersei Lannister satisfied. But now those deep lines of worry are etched into his fathers skin yet again.

"Naples, my son, is an expanse of a kingdom that is yet again slipping out of my reach. Cersei Lannister now threatens to ally with the Boltons and I am left without allies in each point of Italy" his father frowns "if I am without allies then I am without the help of God. It means he has turned his back on me"

"Father do not put so much judgement on God. He has no control over Cersei Lannister, perhaps the devil has that power" he can see the flash of warning in his fathers eyes at the statement, but a thin smile colours his face.

"Perhaps" his father muses "but if the Lannisters and the Boltons come together I fear Lucifer himself will indeed have power. If they ally they will march here to Rome and overthrow me"

"Assemble the Papal army and march to Naples! Demand Cersei Lannister sign a document displaying her allegiance to the Pope or else name her a traitor to the Papacy" Jon tells him, the venomous imagine of the blonde cunning Lannister making his blood boil. He can see the thin curve of his fathers mouth tighten at his words, but there is no malice or ill content in his eyes. Marching onto Cersei's home and holding her against her will to sign something of allegiance is an act Pope Eddard would never commit to. War is sometimes the necessary horror of God's will, he does sometimes tell Jon, but the unnecessary violence some afflict upon others is unforgivable. Jon can hear those words in his head now as he stands before the holiness of Rome.

"How could you suggest such a thing? It is dishonourable! The hunger of war from the mouth of Robb would not have stirred me, but from you Jon? It is most grievous" the long sleeves of his fathers papal robes are bunched up by his long fingers as he stands and eyes Jon with a hardened stare "you are a man of God, a man of the church. A _Cardinal_ "

"Yes well I didn't always want to be a Cardinal, father. The ugliness of war comes second nature to me" Jon smiles a teasing smile and shrugs his shoulders as playfully as he can muster. But there is not much playfulness in return from the Pope, only narrowed eyes as he makes his way to where Jon stands with a flourish of his white robes.

"We must not do anything hasty to upset the Lannisters" Eddard warns his son, those steely eyes tracing the shaky lines atop the browned maps that are strewn across the table. Jon feels the large hand of his father stretch across his back and guide him to where the lines of Rome and the Vatican lie etched in fading ink "we can assume that we have lost the Boltons alliance and all the advantages it brought us"

"Assume?" Jon can feel that salty taste of bitter blood coat his tongue as he speaks; the cunning face of Ramsay Bolton burned in his mind. He had looked so angelic and wholesome the day he had taken Sansa's hand and kissed it upon the altar of marriage. Jon had almost felt a liking toward him then, but it had only lasted a second "how can you assume? There is no _assuming_ father, their alliance is over for definite. They have ruined any chance of ever entering into an allegiance with this family again. Ramsay made sure of that when he beat and raped my sister"

"We do not speak of such things in here!" Eddard tells him with a quick bite in his tone. Jon does not miss how his eyes skip to the immortalised ones of St Peter in the stained glass window. They seem to glint with something that Jon sees often in Sansa's eyes. It's a look of sorrow. But Jon does not feel sorrow now; only fury.

"Then where do we speak of it? You will not hear of their crimes, of what that monster did to my sister"

"She's not just your sister" the Pope all but growls, floppy waves of sandy brown falling into his eyes as he sharply turns his head "she is my daughter! My eldest daughter! I will not listen to what she endured. My heart is not able for it"

"You think mine was?" Jon all but whispers; a weight in his words that seem to want to bury him where he stands "you think I was able for it?"

"What happened to Sansa haunts me each time I close my eyes. Believe me I have cursed God himself for allowing such a thing to happen, but the Boltons have suffered because of it. Stripping them of titles and fortune was a greater insult to them than any. We must put it in the past and focus on what is at hand. Our enemies rallying against our family and seeing us thrown out of Italy! If Roose Bolton sides with Tywin Lannister then he will see me and all of my children dragged through the streets of Rome naked"

"So if you are against violence and holding Cersei Lannister and her children hostage what is it you suggest, Holy Father?" Jon questions him, one thick eyebrow raised.

"A softer approach to an alliance with Naples and with the Lannisters. A union" there is a wary look in Eddards eyes as he gauges his sons reaction and Jon can feel each muscle in his face tighten like leather.

"A _union_? You can not be serious, father"

"Cersei has not sided with the Boltons yet, nor has her father. What the Lannisters want more than anything is the power to control Italy, it's why they fear the papacy so much and why they wish to eradicate it. But if I were to lure them into a false sense of power then they might just stay on my side" it's almost s if he's no longer talking to Jon but to himself as he starts to pace and point his finger in the air as he does.

Jon watches him intently and tries to remember when being Pope became so important to his father. The Starks had been so happy in France, tucked away in Winterfell Castle and far away from the prying eyes of God. It seems now that each thing they do becomes another act to be judged or ridiculed. Each defeat Robb suffers is laughed at. The wildness of Lady Arya and Jon's younger brothers is scoffed at by aristocrats within the Roman court. Jon is shunned each chance he's given for being the illegitimate son of a Pope. There is a desire that is buried deep down within Jon's own heart that he knows would make his whole family crumble. A desire he holds for his own sister.

"And who will this union unite, father?" Jon asks and watches as his father stops his pacing, the long papal robes sweeping across the floor.

"Prince Joffrey, and your sister Sansa" the words are a blow to the chest; a great and colossal tremor of pain that almost threatens to send Jon to his knees. It seems that the world keeps on spinning while Jon and his father stare at one another from across the study- grey meeting black in a whirlwind of mixed emotions. Sansa's tear stained face and bruised chest flicker across his mind and he can't help but wince at the thought of her being carted off to another man so soon. Is his father ill? Is he in his senses? Marrying Sansa off yet again so soon after a disastrous marriage?

"This can not be! You would see my sister married off again? To a Lannister?" Jon is furious- it is evident in the way his voice and hands shake with unadulterated anger.

"He is a Baratheon! Robert's son, if you can find it in your mind to remember!" his father tells him while waving a hand in the air "a marriage between a Baratheon and a Stark would be just the thing to soldered this alliance together"

"I thought it was a betrothal between those two houses that once tore Rome apart" Jon's voice is hushed but his father hears, those thin lips of his quivering slightly at the edges. Jon knows why Pope Eddard becomes so hostile at the mention of the past. It is the name of his sister he fears more than anything. Jon's aunt had been betrothed to King Robert of Naples but had died with another man in her heart. A love that had started the bloodiest war in Roman history.

"All the more reason to rectify it. I have spoken to Robb about this, he remains just as cold as you over it" Eddard tells him, his back now to his son as he stands before the colossal depiction of the apostles that is soldered in coloured glass.

"My brother has every reason to be as furious as I am. Our sister has suffered enough over the hands of one husband, you can not let her suffer over another. Prince Joffrey holds nothing of his father in him and every quality he has belongs to his mother" Jon is arguing now he knows, his hand now clutching the material that flows around his hips. It is a hindrance to wear skirts so long when he is a man, and all he wishes to grab in his hand is the cool steel of a forged sword.

"Prince Joffrey is a fine young man, who as I recall, expressed the deepest love for your sister when they were young at court together. He will make a fine husband for her. I know she will be pleased" his father's voice is strained now, Jon can hear it clearly in the grumbling way he speaks. But despite the fact that Rome may be on the brink of a civil war, Jon can not be pleased that a marriage is the conclusion his father has proposed.

"What about Arya? Could you not arrange a marriage for her instead? She is as lovely as any girl at court and she would make a man happy"

"No, it must be Sansa. Arya will marry when her time comes, and not before. She is too wild now for matrimony" Jon can not see the sense in it, and finds his heart sinks right down to the ends of his crimson red robes. 

"So you would see Sansa married off before her bruises even have time to heal?" Jon asks the question quietly, but the prickle of the Pope's shoulders and the way he turns to face his son slowly indicates he has heard every word. There is pain in those grey eyes but Jon knows one thing his father is good at is burying pain and grief, and whatever conflict he may feel about this impending marriage will be buried too.

"One day you will see that everything I have done is to protect this country and to protect you. God put me and my children here for a reason, and I intend to do everything in my power to make this country safer. I failed my daughter once already, and I don't intend to do it again. Sansa will marry Prince Joffrey and I know he will be a good husband, one she deserves" the truth which his father speaks with is an obvious one, but Jon can not believe that this marriage will be greatly received by his sister. She is too devoid of heart to want another husband.

"She must be told father" Jon says, the crimson hair of his sister flashing behind his eyes "will you go to her?"

"I had hoped my son, that you would tell her"

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> short I know but I wanted to write something and put it up  
> hope you enjoyed leave comments and let me know thanks guys


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